Collision Event
by walutahanga
Summary: Two ways Jack Landors' life could have gone better. Very AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Collision Event

**Author**: walutahanga

**Disclaimer**: Power Rangers is not mine.

**Notes**: One way that Jack Lander's life could have gone better. Some profanity. Very AU.

--

_**Particle collision event:**__ A brief dynamic event consisting of the close approach of two or more particles, such as atoms, resulting in an abrupt change of momentum. _

--

Eric was tired. He'd just pulled a doubleshift to make up for Wes taking the day off. (Something about Sky having the flu, and Amanda freaking out.) He was just signing off when he saw two Guardians dragging a kid into headquarters. _Literally_ dragging. They were trying to be gentle, but the kid was yelling and kicking up a storm, using words that kids twice his age shouldn't know.

"It's okay, kid. Just calm down, okay. No one's going to hurt you…" The Guardians were frustrated and helpless, and clearly had never had to deal with a terrified, furious kid before.

Eric walked over.

"What's going on here?"

"This is the Valley Mall thief, sir," one of the guardians replied, straightening as he recognised his superior.

Eric looked at the kid skeptically. He was no longer yelling, but he was twisting furiously in the Guardian's grip, trying to get loose. He looked about twelve years old, with dreadlocks and clothes too big for his skinny limbs. He didn't look like the kind of person who could get inside locked doors and leave about as much trace as a ghost.

"Him?" Eric said, his tone saying it all.

"He's a mutant, sir. Phases through things like Kitty Pryde."

"Who?"

The man went a little bit pink.

"Comic book character, sir."

"I see." Eric returned his gaze to the kid. "That explains how he got inside buildings without unlocking the doors. It doesn't explain what he's doing here. Why aren't social services taking him?"

"Social services don't want him. They say a mutant might be a danger to their foster families. And he's already escaped twice from juvie. Our cells are the only place that can hold him."

"So basically no one wants to deal with this kid, so we got stuck with him?"

"That's the long and short of it, sir." The man winced as the kid elbowed him in the stomach.

Eric repressed the urge to say something really scathing about social services. As mutants became more numerous over the past ten years, both he and Wes had seen mutant orphans marginalised and ignored, and then punished when they used their powers for criminal purposes. Eric knew just how much attention and care a mutant child needed to turn out right, and held Social Services to be about as useful as horseshit.

"Alright," he sighed. "I'll take it from here."

"Yes, sir."

The guardians handed the kid over, clearly relieved to not have to deal with it any further. The kid re-doubled his struggles. Eric, however, was a little bit stronger than the regular human, and had a several blackbelts besides, and had no trouble keeping hold of a squirming kid.

"What's your name?" Eric asked. The kid glared at him.

"Fuck you."

"I'm pretty sure that's not what your mother calls you."

"You shut up about my mother!" The kid delivered a sharp kick to his shin. Eric winced and wished Wes were here. As Wes' own son was a mutant, he somehow knew exactly what to say to get through to kids like this. Eric settled for saying:

"Kid, I really wish you'd stop kicking me."

"Fuck you!"

"There's really no point, you know. I'm not letting you go, and you're not getting out of here, and kicking me will only get you into more trouble."

The kid finally stopped squirming, the fight going out of him.

"That's better," Eric said. "Now, you hungry?"

The kid glared at him suspiciously.

"I've heard that one before," he sneered. "Is this the part where you offer me candy?"

Eric snorted.

"Kid, it's more than my career and my marriage is worth to proposition a skinny runt like you. I was thinking the caffeteria."

He felt the kid relax very slightly, some of the tension thrumming through his arm fading.

"I could eat," the kid said cautiously.

Eric took the kid to the cafeteria, sat him down at a table, and plunked a plate of food in front of him. He noted the kid eyeing the exit.

"And just in case you're wondering," Eric said casually. "I'm faster than I look, and there's about twenty Silver Guardians who can tackle you before you get halfway to the door."

The kid started eating. He wasn't kidding when he said he was hungry. He wolfed the meatloaf down as if it was a hamburger. Eric suspected if he'd been alone, he would have licked the plate too.

"So now that I've fed you," Eric said. "What's your name?"

The kid gave him a mutinous look.

"Kid, I'm going to find out eventually. Just save us both the headache and tell me."

"Jack Landors," the kid muttered.

"Know where your parents are, Jack?"

That earned him an outraged look, and another kick underneath the table.

"They're dead!"

"Ow. _What_ did I say about kicking me?"

He glared at the kid, who glared right back.

"How old are you?" Eric said.

The skinny shoulders raised in a shrug.

"You don't know or you don't want to say?"

"Pick one," Jack bit out.

"Jesus. How long have you been on your own?"

The kid just glared at him again. Eric sighed.

"Great, the one day Wes has to take off, and you show up."

"I'm sorry I made you take time out of your busy schedule to arrest me," the kid said, a faint smirk curling his lips. So there was some spunk under there, beneath the resentment and distrust and hostility.

"Don't apologise," Eric said, matching sarcasm with sarcasm. "It's what I get paid for. C'mon."

He stood, and the kid was watching him warily again.

"Where are we going?"

"I have to put you in a cell for the night. One even _you_ can't walk out of."

The kid went rigid.

"Kid, c'mon. It's only for the night, and you'll have the cell to yourself."

For a moment, he thought the kid was going to try and bolt again. Then he saw him give in, shoulders slumping. The kid clearly had smarts. He knew he was trapped, and he went along with it, waiting for an opportunity. Eric escorted him down to lock-up. The cell was small and private. Once he was inside, Eric activated the forcefields that would hold the kid in.

"Hey." Jack watched Eric from behind the bars. "What'll happen to me?"

Eric shrugged.

"Hard to say. You're a minor, so they won't put you in prison. But nowhere else will hold you, and social services won't take you…"

He wasn't going to say it, but it would be a whole lot more convenient for everyone if the kid just escaped and waited until he was eighteen to get arrested again.

The kid didn't seem overly surprised at Eric's statement.

"So no one wants to deal with me," he said with a shrug. "What's new?"

There was an almost painful familiarity to the overly casual tone, the pretence that the rejection didn't hurt. Eric had become intimately familiar with it in his childhood, with the father that had liked to use his fists and the mother that had drunk herself into an oblivious stupor every night. He knew that the sting never really faded. The mask just got better.

"We'll figure something out," he said. "And it won't be prison. I'll make sure of it."

The kid gave a snort of laughter.

"Sure. Whatever."

"Get some sleep, kid."

Eric went home. On the way, he picked up some flowers from the florist and handed them to Taylor as he walked in the door.

"Nice," she said, eyes narrowing. "What did you do this time?"

Eric took a deep breath and prepared to be the most persuasive he'd been since he convinced her to marry him.

"Taylor, have you ever thought about adoption?"

--


	2. Chapter 2

**Collision Event Two**

--

**Notes: **A second way that Jack's life could have gone better.

--

It was a bad idea. Jack knew it was, even as he did it. The mark was a big guy, and fit. Something about the way he moved suggested that he couldn't be taken down easily. But he was well-dressed and clearly had money, and Jack hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.

Jack walked into the guy, jostling him and muttering an apology. No hand grabbed him as he walked away, no one shouted 'thief'. Jack let out a slow breath of relief and kept walking. Once he was safely around the corner, he opened the wallet he'd slipped out of the guy's pocket and started looking through. There was about twenty dollars cash and a few credit cards that he could probably fence to Piggy.

He took out the ID and inspected it. The mark's name was Shane Clark. He was a dark-skinned man in his thirties, who looked sort of Islander. He might pass for Jack – if it was pitch black and the person inspecting it was legally blind. Jack tucked both ID and money in his right pocket, and slipped the wallet with the credit cards into his left to pass onto Piggy later.

He went left on Charlotte Street to avoid going into the Hawk territory. The Hawks were a gang of humans who hated mutants and aliens of any kind. Going into their territory was an invitation to get beaten up at best. At worst, you'd be found floating in the river riddled with bullets. Jack had had a near-miss with them a few weeks ago when he'd taken a short-cut, and he knew they'd be on the lookout for him.

Someone grabbed his arm just as he was about to cross the street.

"Excuse me," a man's voice said. "But I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Jack turned to see none other than Mr Shane Clark. He looked slightly annoyed, as if getting his wallet lifted was a minor inconvenience. Jack tried to bluff it out.

"Mister, I don't know what you're talking about."

"My wallet," Clark said patiently. "Along with everything inside it. Now."

He kept hold of Jack with one hand and held the other out with an implacable expression. At that moment, the traffic signal went, and the people around them moved in a flood. Clark's grip loosened slightly as someone jostled them, and Jack took advantage of the slip to twist free. He darted through the crowd, ignoring the angry exclamations.

"-hey-"

"-watch where you're going-"

Jack wove through the crowd, following where it was thickest. Looking back, he saw Clark following, much quicker than he'd expected. The guy was fast, and he looked pissed off. Just great. Jack just _had_ to pick-pocket the guy who was probably a mercenary or something.

On the other side of the street, Jack made the split second decision to go into Hawk territory. At least he knew Hawk territory and their regular hangouts, and had a pretty even chance of getting through it unhurt. With Clark, he was fairly certain he didn't.

He hurried, ducking and weaving between the hurrying pedestrians. Once the crowds thinned out, he began running. Clark followed and he was relentless. Jack was fast from years of running from cops and mutant-bashers, but this guy was something else. Only Jack's knowledge of the area allowed him to stay ahead.

At Archer's Bridge, he jumped over the railing onto the pavement below. He activated his ability, letting himself slip harmlessly through the pavement. He rose up again until he was standing on firm ground. Then, only then, did he allow himself a grin of triumph. The only other way down was a set of stairs or breaking your legs. Either way, by the time Mr Shane Clark made it down here, Jack would be well away.

Jack glanced up in time to see Clark leap down from the railing and land like a cat on the pavement. He didn't even wobble, just rose gracefully to his feet, straightening his clothes as if he'd stepped off an escalator. Oh _fuck_. He probably was a mutant or an alien of some kind.

"Why do I always pick the dangerous ones?" Jack muttered. "Why the ones who will probably kill me and only have a lousy twenty dollars in their wallet?"

"Why are you running?" Clark said. The fucker didn't even sound out of breath. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want my wallet back."

"Yeah, right." Jack turned to run. But there was a sudden blur of red light and Clark was suddenly standing right in front of him. Jack nearly fell over. Double fuck. The guy really _was_ a mutant.

"Game's over," Clark said grimly. "Now hand it over."

Jack slowly backed away from Clark. Clark kept following, his expression bemused. Jack's back hit a wall. Just over it, he knew, there was a street and a sidewalk. The wall was about ten feet high and made of concrete blocks. It was impossible to climb.

"Where are you going to go?" Clark asked, sounding entirely reasonable and very slightly curious as to what Jack would do. "You're trapped."

Jack threw him a smirk.

"You're not the only one with gifts."

He phased through the wall. He caught a glimpse of the startled look on Clark's face before he vanished into the wall. He came out the other side congratulating himself on his cleverness.

"Well, well. Lookey what we got here."

Jack froze at the voice. He cursed his cleverness as he saw the gang of Hawks only a few metres away. Their leader – a total asshole named Beckett – grinned as he recognised Jack.

"It's Landers. A mutey thinks he can just saunter into our territory any time he pleases."

"Woah, woah." Jack held up his hands placatingly. "So _not_ sauntering. I got lost, and I'm going. See?"

He took a few steps to his right, and nearly ran into the chest of another gangmember. He was stuck, with Hawks on either side, a busy intersection in front of him, and a pissed off mercenary behind him.

"Excuse me."

As if Jack's day weren't bad enough, the mercenary proved that he actually _could_ jump ten foot walls. Clark was perched on top of the wall, looking down at them with an expression that reminded Jack of his old principle.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Jack growled. "What _are_ you, a Jedi?"

"My old sensei would whack you up the back of the head for that reference."

Clark leapt down, landing with cat-like grace beside Jack.

"You look like you're in some trouble," he observed, looking about at the Hawks. His voice was as calm as if they were discussing an overdue library card, or what type of drink to get.

"You _think_?" Jack wondered if he shouldn't just take his chances with the intersection. But he'd always had trouble phasing through moving objects, and he wasn't about to try now. Almost certain death was better than absolutely certain death. "I know you probably want to beat the shit out of me," he said to Clark. "But could you please, like, wait your turn or something. Maybe take a number..."

Clark frowned at him. Jack probably wasn't helping his case any, but then he'd probably smart off to St Peter himself. If you were going to die, you may as well flip a coin to the hangman and a bow to the crowd.

"Well, well," Beckett said, cracking his knuckles. "_Two_ muties. This should be fun."

"Perhaps," Clark said. He grabbed the shoulder of his clothes and tore. With a ripping sound, he was suddenly clad in ominous black leather with a red lining. He tossed the remains of his clothes aside carelessly. Above his mask, his eyes were narrowed. "But not for you."

Jack would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the next couple of minutes. Seeing the Hawks get a smackdown by a single mutant was one of those rare pleasures that gave you a warm fuzzy feeling like Christmas and came around about as often. He only wished he had a camera.

"That was so cool," he said, when he and Clark were standing in the middle of a groaning field of semi-conscious Hawks. "Is that your mutant power? Being a total badass?"

"I'm not a mutant," Clark said, doing the rippy thing that returned him to his civilian clothes. "Now may I _please_ have my wallet back?"

Seeing as he'd just saved Jack from getting beaten to death by a group of mutant-haters, Jack couldn't really think of any reason why not. He shrugged and handed the wallet over.

"_And_ the rest."

Jack sighed and fished out the money and ID.

"So, uh, thanks for saving me," he said. "Especially since I kind of stole from you and all. If there's something I can do to make it up to you –"

Clark's hand landed on his shoulder. The firm grip was totally immune to any amount of twisting or squirming.

"Oh, there's a way," Clark told him.

--

"Why do I have to wear the uniform?"

Jack tugged at it in disgust. Shane allowed none of his annoyance show past the expression of bland serenity that had taken years to master.

"Everyone has to wear the uniform, Jack," he said.

"I don't suppose I could – "

"No."

"You didn't even know what I was going to say!"

"The answer is still no. Now go report to Sensei Dustin for your first class."

Grumbling and muttering to himself, Jack made his way across the Academy grounds. Shane watched him go with an exhasperated expression.

"He'll make a good ninja," Tori said beside him. "Once you've knocked some of the attitude out of him anyway."

"I don't think anyone could do that. But I still think he'll make a good ninja. He's got the the intelligence, the talent, the courage-"

"And the part where he can walk through walls had nothing to do with it?"

"Maybe a little," Shane admitted. "It would be nice to have a student who can ace the earth-rumble move first try."

"I just think you didn't want to leave him on the streets." She gently punched his shoulder. "You old softie."

"Who are you calling old?"

The sun shone down on the Ninja Wind Academy. It was going to be a beautiful day.

--


End file.
